


Boris the Barista

by MonsterSmut



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alien Biology, Alien Culture, Alien Sex, Aliens, F/M, Human/Monster Romance, Light Bondage, Monster sex, Monsters, coffeeshop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 03:56:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16846645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterSmut/pseuds/MonsterSmut
Summary: Girl-meets-extradimensional-alien in a coffeeshop, cocoa and smut ensues.





	1. The Best London Fog in Town

There’s this great coffee shop in my neighborhood. It’s trendy and bit hipster-ish, really popular with the college crowd. I don’t actually like coffee, but I brave the early morning pre-lecture rush because they make the most amazing London Fog in the city.

I like Thursdays the best because that’s when their cutest barista has the morning shift. I extra don’t mind getting up early for my morning cuppa on Thursdays. I’m not the only one with that opinion either, because I swear there’s a good fifty per-cent more customers on Thursday mornings than the rest of the week.

This Thursday it was pouring buckets outside, and I was grateful to duck into the cafe and warm up a bit. I guess the rain was dissuading some of the regulars because the line was shorter than I’d expected. Boris, the cute barista, smiles as I approach the counter. I always wonder how he knows it’s me, he doesn’t have eyes(at least not that I can discern). Maybe it’s scent? Oh, god, I hope not, sometimes I don’t have time to shower before I come in…

“Hey, Boris!”

“Good morning! Pretty bad out there today, huh?”

“Ugh, yeah, it’s like monsoon season or something.”

“Your usual?”

“Yep! Thanks.” I swipe my card and take my receipt. Sometimes I try flirty banter with him, but I’m so bad at it and I think he must cringe at my sad attempts. He’s always very gracious about it and laughs at my terrible puns.

I thumb idly through my instagram while I wait. He says my name with a smile, and our fingers brush as he hands me my cup. It might sound depressing, but our brief interaction is kinda the highlight of my week. I glance down at my cup and see the little doodle of a smiling raincloud he’s drawn there instead of writing my name. It’s different each week. I don’t keep them, I’m not that far-gone, but I do have a collection of snaps of all the doodles that I like to look through when I’m having a hard time.

I sip my London Fog in my depressing cubicle at my soul-crushing job as a glorified code monkey. The happy little rain cloud on the cup cheers me up enough that I manage to slog through the day. Maybe I’ll draw him something, Christmas is coming up, I could make him a card. I’m certainly not doing much with my MFA in this hellhole.

When I get back to my apartment, I pull out my pencils and gouache supplies and start sketching.

 

 

It’s almost Christmas. I haven’t had as much time to work on Boris’s card as I’d like. Dad’s getting worse and I’ve been spending a lot of time helping Mom out taking care of him. I can tell we’re getting close to the end, and so can she. Most of the time, she’s barely keeping it together. I’m trying to be strong, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I cried myself to sleep more often than not.

The coffee shop is packed, people filling the sofas and chairs and booths, the snow outside painting the city white and making for a picture-perfect holiday scene. I get in line and check my email while I wait. When it’s my turn, I put my phone away and look up, and immediately have to suppress the giggle threatening to spill out.

Boris is wearing a red santa hat with a little bell on the end, and it makes him look so cute that I nearly implode. The red of the hat brings out the pinker tones of his violet skin. He’s got a holiday sweater on, too, completing the look. His shoulder spikes poke through the knit fabric.

“You’re looking very festive today!”

“Yeah, ‘tis the season, and all. Hey, I’m sorry, but I ran out of earl grey earlier, I sent Sasha out to get more, but…”

My heart half-sank. “Oh, that’s okay, um, I can just have…”

“Actually,” he interrupted, “I’ve been wanting to try something, if you’re up for it. You kinda inspired me.”

I’m a bit taken aback by that. I inspired him? I have to tell inner-teenage-me to calm down. “Uh, I’m game!”

“Great.” Boris grinned, showing off his tusks and sharp teeth. “I picked up this orange gingerbread chai at the import market this weekend, and it immediately made me think of you.”

He turned and busied himself with the tea, glancing over and smiling at me every so often. Truth be told, my heart was pounding and I felt like I was in tenth grade again and Jake LeSalle noticed me. Boris picks up his sharpie and scribbles on the side of the cup. He hands me the drink and I don’t know if it’s my mind playing tricks on me, or if his fingers linger a little longer against mine as I take it from him.

“Uh, wow, it smells great!” I take a sip. “Mmmm, oh, wow, that’s really good. This definitely needs to go on the menu board.”

“Yeah?” his grin widens. “Ah, I’m so glad you like it!”

“Yeah, totally, I love yo-this, I love this, that you made, I love that you made this for me.” Oh, for fucking sake…

Boris half-smiles and rubs the back of his neck with his hand. “Ha, yeah, you’re welcome, I guess…well, have a good day!”

Oh god, he’s embarrassed for me. That was so bad. I can never come back here. “Thanks,” I reply, “you too!”

Turning to hide my shame, I glance down at the coffee cup in my hand. Instead of the usual adorable doodle, it’s a phone number. A phone number, and a little heart. Oh…

My face is on fire and I glance back up, but Boris is talking to the next customer and I can’t catch his attention. Instead I push back through the morning crowd and toward the door. I need some air, even cold snowy air.

 

 

It takes me all week to work up the nerve to call him. And of course he doesn’t answer and I get his voicemail instead. I panic and hang up. Then call back.

“Hey, sorry, it was me earlier, the hang-up message. Sorry. I already said that. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, god I’m apologizing a lot. Um, I guess you’re busy, so…call me back when you can? Okay, uh, bye.”

I hang up, groan, and bury my face in my hands lest the objects in my apartment witness my shame. I jump as my phone suddenly rings. “Hello?”

“Hey, hi, it’s Boris.”

“Oh, uh, hi!”

“Hi.”

Awkward pause. Why isn’t he saying anything? “So…”

“Uh,” I hear him clear his throat. “So, I was wondering if you’d maybe like go ice skating with me Saturday? At the Pavilion?”

“Yeah, yes, I’d love that!” Stop saying 'love’ so much!

“Great! Want to meet me at the shop, say 7? We can walk together?”

“That sounds perfect.” I try to keep the elation in my voice in check. “I’ll see you then.”

“See you then.” I can hear the smile in his voice, though.

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up, and sit for a moment, the blood rushing in my ears. I have a date. I have a date with Boris. I have a totally romantic ice skating date with Boris the hot barista. Not even my shit job can kill my buzz. I realize I still haven’t finished his card, and pull out my paints. It’s pretty simple, just a study of the coffee shop from the outside, in the snow, though a violet figure can be glimpsed through the window. I just hope he doesn’t think it’s childish, a homemade card.

 

 

Boris is waiting outside the shop for me when I walk up. He has two cups in his clawed hands, steam rising from them. He has a wool peacoat on over his usual sweater and jeans, though this one seems to have been made for him. His shoulder spikes don’t poke through. Boris hands me one of the cups.

“I know you don’t like coffee, but how about hot chocolate?” He smiles at me over the thick scarf wrapped around his neck.

“I love hot chocolate! Thank you.” I smile back at him as I take the cup. “Shall we?”

We start slowly strolling along the sidewalk, the crunch of snow under our feet. The trees that line the street are decked out in string lights and everything feels magical. I love this time of year.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a long time, you know.” Boris is looking straight ahead, but he has a little smirk on his face.

“Yeah? What stopped you?” I have to admit, I am curious.

“To be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were into me or not. I mean, we flirt and I draw pictures on your cup, but I couldn’t tell if we were just friendly flirting or flirting flirting, you know?”

“Wait, don’t you draw pictures on everyone’s cups? I just thought that was something you did?”

“No,” Boris looks down at me, his expression warm and affectionate. “Just for you.”

He reaches over and takes my hand in his, long claws resting lightly against the back of my hand. I swallow, thickly.

“Oh.” is all I can manage.

We walk in silence for a ways after that, my hand in his. His skin isn’t rough, but it is firmer than mine, and surprisingly warm. The Pavilion comes into view ahead of us, lights and festive garlands all over it, the sound of the carousel music wafting out at us.

Inside, there is a modest ice rink next to the antique wooden carousel. I haven’t been ice skating since I was a kid, and I tell him so.

“Neither have I, actually. It’s okay, we can support each other.”

Boris and I pick up our skates from the counter and lace in. He’s already steadier on his feet than I am, but we’re both pretty slow and careful as we step onto the ice. We sort of shuffle along slowly, me clinging to his side like a barnacle. It’s pretty nice, almost like cuddling.

After about an hour of clinging to each other and falling down, repeatedly, we decide our egos and knees are bruised enough. We grab some food at one of the food trucks outside the Pavilion and settle onto one of the benches near the carousel.

We chat over steaming bowls of rice and bulgogi and I learn he has an older sister and a younger brother, but both his parents have passed. I talk a bit about my dad, but I don’t go into details, too heavy for a first date. Boris is a really good listener. We discover we share a love of terrible horror movies.

“Yeah, my great-uncle actually played the monster in that one.”

“You’re kidding!” I gasp. “You’re related to Chneya Szim?! I looooove 'Horror From The Deep’!”

“Ha, he’d have loved to hear that, he was such a ham. That whole side of my family was big in the industry back in the '50s.” Boris grins, fork in hand. I’m always amazed at how expressive his face is, even without eyebrows or eyes. The folds on the upper half of his face are much more flexible and pliant than they seem at first glance.

“How’d your family get involved in that?”

“Well, my great-great-grandparents were first-generation extradimensionals, back when the tears were uncontrolled, they just kinda fell through. My great-great-grandpa was working construction on a backlot when some character actor quit and they needed someone fast. The director saw him, and let’s be honest, we’re waaaay scarier than the foam and rubber suits you humans were wearing back then in the movies.” Boris looks a little sad. “He didn’t really like playing monsters in movies, I guess back in our dimension he was some kind of professor, but work was hard to find and he had kids by that point, you know?”

“I’m sorry.” I have a sharp stab of guilt about my earlier enthusiasm for basically ex-ploitation flicks.

“Hey, it was the '50s, right? Anyway, it kind of became a family business, and my great-uncle really took to it well. Thus spawning the 'Horrors’ franchise.” He grimaces. “The whole disco-phase in the '70s embarrassed the hell out him, though.”

“What disco-phase? Everyone knows 'Return to the Deep’ was the last 'Horrors’ film.” I reply, gamely.

“Oh, of course! I’m mistaken.” he laughs. “What about you? Other than your latte order and your penchant for horror movies, I don’t actually know a whole lot about you.”

“Uh, what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” His face is so open and earnest. I swallow my discomfort.

“Well, I got my MFA at XSU a few years ago, and I do web design for some local corporations, I work mainly at an office share downtown, but I do some stuff from home. It’s kind of soul-killing, to be honest. When I graduated, I thought I was gonna take over the world, you know, and instead I’m grinding away at a 9-to-5 in a cubicle, well, more like 7-to-6.”

“You don’t do any of your own stuff anymore?” Boris asks.

“I do a little, when I have time, but between work and helping out at home, I mean at my folks’ place, there’s not a lot of energy left over for my own art. I do miss it though, creating something just for the joy of it.” I dig around in my purse. “Actually, the last thing I made of my own is for you.”

I hand him the card in it’s red envelope. He turns it over slowly, examining it in some way I can’t understand. “This is for me?”

“Yeah, I hope you like it.” I bite my lip, very nervous.

Boris slices the envelope open with one claw and pulls out the card. On the front is my watercolor of the coffee shop. After a moment, he opens the card and appears to be reading, his brows coming together. I had tried to keep my message simple and not too romantic, in case the date went badly.

“This is…beautiful. Thank you.” he looks back up at me. “You painted this?”

“Yeah, it was nice to flex my watercolor muscles. I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s really good. Why don’t you show your work in galleries? There’s that art walk every first Friday of the month, we always hang up local artists’ work in the shop.”

“The gallery scene in this city is ridiculously hard to break into, unless you know someone or you get 'discovered’ I guess.”

“You should let me hang some of your work up in the shop, there’s a gallery guy who comes in all the time. I’m sure he’d love your stuff.”

“Are you sure?” I ask. “That’s really sweet, but I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss…”

“I am the boss.” Boris states, flatly.

I blink. “What?”

“I own the shop. It’s mine. I live in the apartment above it.”

“Oh, I didn’t, I feel silly for assuming you just worked there, now.” I reply. I guess I never thought about how old he was, extradimensionals don’t really visibly age, I assumed he was close to my own age and just working in the coffee shop. “How old are you? Just, I realized I don’t actually know, and-”

“And you suddenly worry you’re out with a 50-year-old guy?” he jokes.

“Not that that’s bad, or anything!” I try to recover, in case he really is 50.

“I’m 32.” he responds. Oh, well then.

“And you own your own business, nice.”

“Don’t be too impressed, I inherited it from my folks. Tycha, my sister, wasn’t interested in running the shop, and Zloan went into film like Dad’s side of the family. Except he’s directing instead of acting. So it’s me.”

“Do you like running the shop?” I ask.

“I do. I really do. I love the sense of community. I grew up here, you know, and while I’ve traveled my fair share, I always knew I was going to come back here to stay.”

“Well, I’m glad for that, you make the best London Fog in the city.”

“Ha, so I’ve been told.”

 

 

Our walk back to the shop is easy and slow, our conversation drifting back to horror movies, then to horror novels, books in general, the writing-a-novel-at-the-coffee-shop trope, and some amusing stories about his regulars. He walks me the extra distance to my place, after asking if it’s okay. Apparently he had me meet him at the coffee shop in case I didn’t want him to know where I lived, in case the date went poorly. Turns out we’re both pragmatic realists. Or pessimists. Whichever. I do not mind him knowing where I live.

“I had a really great time tonight, thanks for inviting me out.” I say as we pause at my door.

“I had a really great time, too. I’m really glad you called.” he smiles down at me, hands in his coat pockets, as he leans against the wall. “Eventually.”

He’s teasing me. I deserve it.

“Yeah, well, I had to work up the nerve, you’re intimidatingly handsome.” I toss back.

He ducks his head down and chuckles. “Well, I’m glad you think so. Can I see you again?”

“Yes, absolutely. If you want, we can stay in and watch terrible horror movies, order some delivery?”

He straightens up and gives me a satisfied half-smile. “It’s a date. Can I kiss you goodnight?”

“Absolutely.”

We both lean in to the kiss, his hand brushing my cheek as I stretch up on my tiptoes because he’s just so damn tall. After a few moments I feel his tongue brush against my mouth and I part my lips slightly. Boris deepens the kiss, his tusks ghosting over my skin. I sigh into his mouth as we part.

“That was a hell of a first kiss.” he remarks, sounding a little breathless.

“I have high hopes for the second one, too.” I can’t hide my smile as I open my door. “Goodnight, Boris. See you Thursday.”

“Goodnight.”


	2. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time with a new partner can be awkward, but it doesn't have to be. Also, consent is sexy.

“Hey, gorgeous!” I lean in and kiss Boris on the cheek. “Ready for our staycation?”

“Ugh, I hate that word.” he grumbles, but still pulls me close by my waist for a proper kiss.

“You hate all portmanteaus.”

“Yes, they’re all terrible.”

“Mmmm, I will try to restrain myself this weekend, then.”

It had been his idea to hole up for the long weekend. He’d been working long hours at the coffee shop during the holiday season and work was massively stressing me out, and we were both looking forward to three days of nothing but bad movies and take out and each other. I still hadn’t spent the night at his place yet, and I’d been looking forward to it. Well, I was looking forward to a great many things, actually, since I anticipated we’d  _finally_  be moving past the kissing and groping stage in our relationship.

“I have to finish up a couple things down here, but why don’t you head on up?” he says, handing me his key.

“Okay. I’m going to order pizza, you want the usual?”

He grunts in affirmation as he goes over the days receipts. I head up the stairs and let myself in. Boris’s apartment is very comfortable. Nice open floorplan, which makes it seem bigger than it is, and everything has that lived-in cozy home feel. There’s big movie posters framed and hung all over the walls, all from the ‘Horrors’ series, of course. Interspersed between the movie posters are photographs of the film “monsters” in their mundane lives; wedding pictures, baby pictures, graduations, vacations. It’s a family portrait gallery all together, and it’s kind of surreal to see these extradimensional actors I’d admired for so long in day-to-day clothes posing with family and friends.

Boris joins me shortly after the pizza arrives, and we snuggle on the couch while we eat. I love watching him eat, his tusks make some things more difficult than others, and I admit I’m a little fascinated. In the weeks we’ve been together, I’ve tried to memorize him; the subtly-shifting iridescent purple of his skin, the intricate series of folds and ridges that cover his face where his eyes would be if he were human, the particular way his face plates pinch together when he’s concentrating, the plush way his lower lip pouts out around his tusks. I can never get enough of looking at him.

“Staring is rude.” he teases.

“You like it when I stare. Anyway, it isn’t fair! I can never tell when you’re staring at me.”

“Not having visible eyes has it’s advantages.” he says, raising his whiskey glass in mock salute. “I’ll let you in on a secret though; I’m always staring at you.”

I smirk into my wineglass.

“So…this is kinda our first sleepover…” I say, decided to just get the awkward bit over with.  
  
“It is…” he says, his voice questioning.

“I, uh…I know we haven’t done more than-”

“We don’t have to have sex, if you don’t want.” he blurts. The suddenness of it makes me laugh, and he looks chagrined. “I mean, we can just sleep if you want.”

“No, that’s not it, I want to have sex!” I’m quick to reassure him. “I  _really_  want to. Tonight.”

He gives me a slow smile before his mouth descends on mine. Boris kisses thoroughly, like each one might be the last, or like it’s oxygen and he’s suffocating, or some other kind of overly-dramatic nonsense. I’m smitten and I wax poetical about him, sue me. His clawed hands start to push up under my shirt, the pads of his thumbs stroking my sides. I push him back.

“We haven’t really talked about our pasts, but I think it’s important to have that conversation before we go…further.”

“Okay, what do you want to know?” he asks, his expression open and accommodating.

“Do you date a lot?”

“I haven’t seriously dated anyone in a while, no, but I’ve had some long-term girlfriends and boyfriends in the past.”

“Boyfriends?” I raise an eyebrow.

“Is that strange?” he asks, his tone careful.

“No, not at all. You’re very handsome, I’m sure you’ve had to beat them off with a stick.”

“I can’t say I’ve ever used a stick to beat anyone off…” he says in mock-thoughtfulness. I let out a bark of laughter and immediately turn red.

“I walked right into that one.”

“Yes you did.” he smirks at me over the rim of his glass.

“Okay, what about casual dating?”

“I, I did see people casually, before I started seeing you. I’m very careful, though. I use protection, I get tested. And of course, I’ll use protection with you.”

“I’m open to going without barrier protection, if we both get tested and are clear.”

“What about you? Any vengeful spurned lovers I should be worried about?” Boris asks.

“No, I had one girlfriend in college, but after we broke up I stopped dating for a while. I did have a string of impressively bad Tinder dates if you want a laugh, though!”

We watch a couple horror movies on Netflix, me leaning back against his broad chest with his chin resting on my head. He’s absentmindedly stroking my arm with his thumb and it feels wonderful. The wine is making me feel warm and just a bit tipsy. I drift off at some point, because next thing I know the third movie we’ve watched is over.

Boris must have felt me wake up, because he tips my head back and kisses me. After a few moments, I turn around in his arms and straddle his lap, and we make out like horny teenagers, his hands up under my shirt and running down to pull at my waistband while I grind against him. I can feel his desire pressing insistently against the confines of his jeans.

“Do you want to see the bedroom?” he asks, his voice low. He tugs carefully on my earlobe with his teeth, the heat and wine flush my cheeks.

“Yes, I want to see the bedroom  _very_  much…”

Boris smiles softly and takes my hand, pulling me after him. He stops in front the bedroom doorway and guides me through with a hand on the small of my back. I take my time in looking it over, it’s more luxurious than I’d have guessed, given the lived-in comfort of the rest of the apartment. The bed is almost absurdly large and richly-appointed in dark satin, the sheets peeking over the edge of the duvet look plush. I walk slowly along the foot of the bed, running my fingers over the fabric as I take in the walls hung with photographs of plants and landscapes that are rather sensual in form and composition. The lighting is low and intimate.

“You’ve set quite a mood here.” I tell him.

“On the rare occasion I bring someone to bed, I like it to be an experience.” he states. He’s regarding me from the corner of the room, his posture relaxed, but something in his demeanor reminds me of a coiled spring. I glance away.

“That’s an imposing piece of furniture.” I say, eyeing the heavy oak wardrobe dominating the room. It’s a towering art deco thing, the doors engraved in a geometric sunburst design. “Is that where you keep your expensive suits?”

I meant it as a joke, Boris pretty much lives in soft sweaters, but he seems suddenly taciturn.

“I wasn’t really going to show you what’s in there yet.” he replies.

“Oooh, mysterious. Now you  _have_  to show me. Is it embarrassing? Or is this a Bluebeard thing?” I tease.

He remains stock still. I take his clawed hand.

“Hey, it’s okay, whatever it is, it’s fine. I promise.” I reassure him. “You don’t have to show me, it’s okay. I’m sorry for prying.”

He smiles softly and gives me a kiss. “No, this was going to come up sooner or later, may as well show you now.”

He opens the large wardrobe. The inside of the doors sport rows of hooks upon which hang floggers and paddles of leather and wood, whips, lengths of rope, and various harnesses and restraints. Inside the body of the wardrobe is a series of shelves and drawers, displaying an impressive collection of dildos, plugs, vibrators and massagers, an array of violet wand attachments, silk blindfolds, and a variety of condoms of varying materials and designs.

“Wow, that’s, um, quite a collection you have.”

He stands to one side and lets me peruse the wardrobe’s contents to my satisfaction. The ropes vary in thickness and material, the restraints are lined in soft material but have heavy fastenings and clasps. I pick up one of the floggers and test it’s weight against my hand. Boris rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah…look, we don’t have to do any of this stuff if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, no, I very much want to.”

He seems surprised, but recovered quickly. “Oh? Oh! Uh, yeah, great. I would really enjoy that, with you.”

I smile at him. “You were worried this was going to scare me off, weren’t you?”

“Of course I was, can you blame me? I wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest if you’d called me some kind of sex-crazed fiend and didn’t want to see me anymore.” He’s blushing. It’s hard to tell with his coloring, but I’ve learned to see it.

I wrap my arms around his middle and lean up for a lingering kiss. “Well, you might still be some kind of sex-crazed fiend, but I like that.”

He groans and picks me up for a more thorough kiss. “You are absolutely perfect, you know that? I can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have found you.”

“That makes two of us. Now put me down, I want to play with your toys!” I grin at him. He chuckles as I race back over to the armoire. “I feel like a kid in a candy shop!”

“Do you have many sex toys?” he asks.

“A few. Nothing terribly exciting or exotic, I’m afraid.” I laugh. Picking up a coiled length of silky purple rope, I raise my eyebrow at him. “I’ve always wanted to try restraints…”

“I think jumping right in to ropes might be a bit too much,” he says, and then laughs at my pout. “But I’m very open to restraining you in other ways, to see if you like it…”

His voice has turned velvety and sinful, like chocolate, and I can’t help the shiver that runs through me at it. Running my hands up his chest, I pull his lower lip between my teeth and savor the groan that escapes him.

“What did you have in mind?”

In a flash, he spins us around and lays me out on the bed, kneeling between my legs as he pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it aside. I let my eyes rake over him in appreciation as he undoes his button-fly jeans and shucks them off his legs. I stop his hands before he can remove his boxers.

“Can I?”

“Of course.”

His hands fall away from his waistband as he lets me take the lead. My tongue darts out to lick my lips as I pull the garment down to his knees and his erection springs free.

I…may have looked at extradimensional porn once or twice…or more. So what I find between Boris’s legs(or more accurately jutting impressively from his pelvis) isn’t a complete surprise. That being said, getting an up-close in person view is pretty fucking great. His size is pretty comparable to a human’s, maybe slightly on the larger end of the spectrum, but the texture is completely new to me. He has folds and ridges down his length similar to those on the rest of his body, and imagining what he will feel like in my hand or my  _mouth_  or oh god  _inside me_ …

My thoughts must be showing in my face, because Boris gently tilts my head up to look at him.

“You can touch, if you like…”

And oh I like so much.

Wrapping my hand around the base of his cock, I slowly slide it along his shaft up to the purple head. It bears three weeping slits leaking precum, looking like a tightly-closed tulip bud. The liquid is pale blue and slightly shimmers as I smear it against his skin with my thumb. Boris swears and bucks into my hand, his clawed hand gripping my shoulder. I move my hands to his hips and lean forward to suck the head of Boris’s dick into my mouth. A lewd moan shakes him and his other hand moves into my hair, the claws scraping lightly against my scalp and sending goosebumps over my skin. I hum appreciatively as I work him with my mouth and hand.

“Shit, that’s… _fuck_ , that’s good…” he hisses, thighs starting to shake with the effort of holding himself still. I pull back off him with a pop.

“You can move your hips if you want to, I don’t have much of a gag reflex.” I give him a wink.

“Oh Christ…”

Even without eyes, the expression on his face as he looks down at me is intense and heated. I take him back in my mouth and redouble my efforts, becoming more vocal as he begins to thrust gently into my mouth. I run my hands around to his impressive ass and give him a firm tug and he cries out as the head of his cock slips further into my throat.

“ _Fu-_ , oh, so that’s how you want it?” he groans through gritted teeth. The hand in my hair tightens until he has a firm grip and he holds me utterly still as he begins to fuck my mouth in earnest. I’m moaning messily around his dick, the pale blue viscous liquid and my saliva spilling down my chin as I try to remember to breathe. “Hell, you really  _can_  take it all, can’t you?”

Boris picks up the pace, testing my limits.

“I could get used to that sight…” he sighs before withdrawing from me completely. I wipe my chin with the back of my hand. I check out his ass as he turns to his wardrobe and pulls out a condom and some lube. His back is criss-crossed with dark purple stripes, almost like a tiger, and I find the markings very erotic for some reason.

“Likewise…”

The condom and lube are set on the bedside table and Boris turns his attention to me. He draws me into a deep kiss, tongue licking into my mouth as his tusks rasp against my cheeks. Pulling back gently, he firmly guides me over onto my stomach before slipping a hand under my hips and lifting them up.

“Let me return the favor.” he whispers, and then his tongue is on me, his sharp teeth dragging dangerously over my skin as he nuzzles his face against me. I keen in desire as his tongue delves inside, working me open again and again before adding a finger, then another.

“Ohhhh, fuck,  _Boris_ , I…”

“Tell me what you want.”

“ _More_ , I need more, I want you inside me,  _please_!” I am not too proud to beg.

I roll over onto my back and watch as he rolls the condom down his shaft and then lubes himself up. The condom clings to all of his ridges and folds in an erotic display and I squeeze my muscles in anticipation of being filled. I spread my legs wider to make room for him as he leans over me on one arm, reaching down with his other hand to guide himself to my entrance. Easier than I would have thought, he slips inside. The stretch burns as my walls try to accommodate the unfamiliar shape.

“Fuck, you’re  _tight_ …” he hisses.

“ _Mmmm_ , it’s… _ah_ , been a while for me…” I breathe.

“Should I be gentle with you?”

“Fuck no!”

His grin is all teeth and tusks as he grabs my hands and pulls them over my head. “ _Good._ ”

Boris has a firm grip on my wrists, pinning me to the bed beneath him. I can’t do much but wrap my legs about his waist and try to meet his hips with my own on every thrust. My name falls from his lips in a strangled cry as he sets a relentless pace. The natural ribbing that runs the length of his shaft feels delicious, and he cants his hips at just the right angle to drive me absolutely wild. He uses one large hand to hold both my wrists.

“If I do something you don’t like,” he grunts, “say 'red’ and I’ll stop. Okay?”

I nod.

“I need verbal agreement, sweetheart.”

“Yes, okay. I’ll say 'red’, just please keep fucking me!”

He gives me a sly half-smile as his free hand comes down to wrap around my throat, not squeezing tightly, but keeping me in place pressed against the bed. Boris’s pounds a hard staccato rhythm against my hips, bringing me to the brink of climax, before backing off and slowing down. I whine loudly and he laughs.

“Oh, I’m not done with you yet, gorgeous.” he murmurs against my mouth before pressing his lips to mine with a moan.

The drag of his sinfully-textured dick inside of me slowly stokes the fire of my climax again, his thrusts becoming precise and insistent as he hits my sweet spot over and over and over…

“ _Fuuuuck_ , Boris, I’m gonna…”

He backs off again.

“ _Uuuhhhnnnnn!_  Stop  _teasing_  me, damn it!” Breaking free of his grasp, I rake my hands down his back, and Boris swears, pressing his forehead against mine. I can’t tell if he’s staring into my eyes some way or not, but I am definitely staring at him. I squeeze around him as hard as I can, refusing to let up, until I’ve reduced him to a moaning mess and his pace falters.

Boris flips us suddenly so that I’m sitting on him as he thrusts up into me. He twists my hands behind my back and holds them there. “ _Ride me_.”

I start bucking my hips against him, lost in the friction and slap of our bodies together, squeezing around him off and on until he’s as desperate for release as I am. He lets go of my hands and grips my hips, slamming me down against him as he thrusts up into me hard. I reach behind myself and grab onto his massive thighs for support and stability as my orgasm overtakes me. Boris is right behind, riding out the waves of my climax as he crests over his own. He rolls his hips up against me like waves as I collapse against his chest.

My ears are ringing and I’m only dimly aware of anything else in the room. Boris is running his claws softly up and down my back, soothingly, as I quake.

“Holy shit…” I manage, at last.

Boris is quiet for a while, before responding with a “ _Yeah…_ ”

I roll off him and rest my head against his shoulder, mindful of the spike. He sweetly links his fingers through mine as we bask in the afterglow.

“I liked you holding me down like that…”

He turns his face to me. “Yeah? I’m glad. I really liked holding you down.”

“I wouldn’t mind you using something more than your hands on me next time.” I press a kiss to his cheek.

“Mmmm, happy to hear that. If you like, I can show you some things in the morning…”

I hum happily and curl up in his embrace as we start drifting off to sleep. “This is the  _best_  staycation.”

Boris groans and hits me with a pillow as I laugh.


End file.
